Home is Behind
by bongokid1311
Summary: The battle of Azanulbizar (between the Dwarves of all seven houses, and the orcs of the Misty Mountains) has just ended, leaving King Thrain II short of one son, and Thorin a self-loathing older brother. The events led to the Aesir King Odin offering aid to the dwarves, and agreeing on a treaty to help the Dwarves rebuild their home.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1: Thunder and Lightning**

Hlóriði rammed his hammer against the chest of yet another jotun, growling at the sudden pain in his leg when bitten by a frosty shard.

"To your left my prince!" Freyr called, gracefully sliding from the grasp of a giant. His pale blonde hair shifted in his face like a veil, as he backlashed to sever head from neck. Blood painted his beautiful face, Hlóriði turning away to distract himself.

"Show off." He muttered, voice thick with an accent. Freyr shrugged in response, jumping away from an oncoming ambush.

"We need to head further away from the village." Freyr yelled over the clashing of steel and breaking bone. "Away from the people." Through the battlefield, Freyr searched for his lost chariot, boars squealing, having overturned the cart onto themselves. "I will lead them off. Keep an eye on those who do not follow." Freyr instructed, leaping onto the chariot and sailing off through the woods. Hlóriði grunted, lifting his hammer to crush the head of a fallen giant.

"Will do." His own hair was a mess of dirt and blood, red braids falling loose beneath his helm. From the corner of his eye, Hlóriði could see two large ravens perch themselves on a tree near him, beady black eyes baring inquisitively into his own. "What is it now?" He grumbled, unwilling to let his father's watchmen distract him long enough to suffer another injury. It seemed as if more and more giants were coming up the hill, but from where? Mjolnir in hand, the mighty "G-d" strode up the mountain, tunic shredded upon his broad frame as he sent numerous charred corpses rolling down behind him. "You dare defy I? Hlóriði, son of Odin son of Bor? God of Thunder?" His voice was monstrous and cold, as his enemies cowered before him. "Onwards! Return from whence thee came!" Chest stuck out like a buck in spring, Hlóriði watched as the giants descended; ground shaking from their feet. He returned to the large village just in time to meet up with Freyr on his chariot.

"All is well?" Freyr asked, chest heaving in exhaustion. Hlóriði nodded stiffly, placing mjolnir at its original place on his belt.

"For now. Wait for me. I wish to see you off before you leave." Hlóriði replied, wiping grime from his forehead.

"Where do you go? To the bathing halls, if so my friend I beg to join thee."

"Nay. You are familiar with Munin and Hugin?" Freyr nodded. "I believe they wished to give word of my father. I saw them in the woods. They beckoned me when I would not go. "

"Then seek out your father my dearest friend. I will seek you when the task is done."

"And if I seek you?" Freyr smiled genuinely, at the taller man.

"Then I will be in the bathing halls with Freya awaiting your joining." Hlóriði clasped the slender mans shoulder squeezing briefly as he turned away.

.

Hlóriði found nothing pleasant in the twinkle that comprised his father's icy blue eyes. He learned to be cautious of the aged warrior, and the secrets and "surprises" he tended to throw onto he and Loki's shoulders.

"Might I have a word with you my son?" Odin's voice was thick and raspy, Hlóriði figured it was from so many battle cries, Loki saying it was from age. He gave a grunt in response. His coronation was in a matter of days, and he had no time to waste, especially with his father's unfortunately long talks. He could not deny the man, for he was also his king… so the talks would have to be endured. Obediently stepping up to the throne, he bowed respectively. Raising a hand, the Allfather motioned for him to rise. "The war was as expected, failure. It seems just as the dwarves, we underestimated the orcs." This didn't seem to be what Odin initially wanted to address. The man was stalling.

"How many of our troops were loss?" Hlóriði questioned, smoothing down the fabric of his trousers. Odin sighed, taking his hat off to scratch his head.

"The casualty of the orc and dwarves were greater. There being only a handful of dwarves left in Khazad-Dum. Prince Frerin was one of the many lost."

"Serves Thror right! The oaf cared for nothing more than what riches were to be mined from those mountains. What enchanted gold he could find, and for what bargain. They are no better than the giants that tower above them."

"Have you forgotten it was a dwarf, that gifted you that hammer? A gift to you from King Thrain himself? Have you no respect for those who do you good?"

"I respect those respectable. Thror is no man deemable of that honor. Nor is Thrain, or any burdened to bear the name of Durin!" Odin said nothing, nodding at Hlóriði's outburst.

"And what makes you deemable to the respect you deny to them?" Odin questions, a smile tugging at the corners of his thin lips. Hlóriði bristled, crossing his arms over a wide chest.

"I am a God-

"You are not. We live and die just as mortal men." Odin cut in nonchalantly.

"Not without interference of others. How many of us have died from a cold or chill? How many of our children have suddenly left us for Hel in their sleep?"

"Again… you have failed to see my point, Hlóriði. Their are great Kings and good men. Which are you?"

"I- Hope to be a great King." Odin sighed for the third time, pushing up from his chair to stand.

"Understandable my son. But not what I was looking for.

"Pray do tell what you were looking for father?" Hlóriði called as the man began walking away. Odin stopped.

"A good man willing to compromise the desires of himself for the betterment of his people. A good man willing to look not with his eyes, nor fists, but with his mind."

"Knowledge is not everything." Hlóriði retorted.

"Neither is strength so it seems." Hlóriði snorted, blue eyes staring angrily after his father- his king. There could be no other who could frustrate him more...well one person, and he was peeping through the door.

"Nephew." The silken voice says. "I thought I heard you in here." The man was tall and thin, with wide shoulders and narrow hips, his long red hair was loose upon his shoulders, long and well cared for. Emerald green eyes held a mischievous glint that his lips could not foretell.

"Loki." Hlóriði greeted gruffly, not in the mood to play with the older male at the moment.

"Why so grim?" Loki questioned, stepping in cautiously. "There's too much to be joyous about, rather than sulking."

"I do not sulk." Hlóriði growled back, Loki's feral grin growing wider.

"You will soon~" Loki sang, strumming his fingers along Hlóriði's chest. "Without a doubt."Hlóriði grunted, walking swiftly to catch his father.

"I can compromise." Hlóriði said, finally stepping to walk alongside the aging man, who refused to show his age, back straight and regal as ever.

"The time has come for you to be married." Odin says simply, not bothering to glance at his son. Hlóriði halted minutely.

"Married. " He repeated. "Why now?"

"The treaty has come to date. You do remember?" Odin raised a bushy brow, to which Hlóriði shrugged.

"I had thought it only means to amuse me. Hadn't had time to think with the duties of being your son."

"It makes no difference."

"But you promised me Sif not too long ago. You said I could court her."

"What is a King without secrets?"

"I wish to be faithful to the ones I love. I long fruitful marriage father, that will not happen should I be given a dwarf! Let him be as I am without!"

"I cannot turn back on my word Hlóriði! Was it not you, who promised to do Asgard some good? To give to the poor and make a lesson from the mighty? You had no qualms about this arrangement when I first brought it up to you."

"That was some twenty years ago. I am a man now, I know what I want, what will-" Hlóriði cut himself off, frown smoothing out. "You are right...but that is when I knew what Thorin looked like. If he looks anything like his kin father I… simply cannot."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Far over**

The skies were grey and silent. Thorin stood over his younger brother's tomb, face pallid and solemn.

"He died fighting." A voice says, hand coming to smooth over his back. "Do not let his death be in vain."

"I only wished it were me instead." Thorin replied, voice raspy from lack of use. "Why couldn't it have been me instead Balin?" Thorin turned to the elder dwarf, whose brown eyes held empathy for the young prince.

"Mahal knows we lost a great fighter, but what can we do now?"

"I- He was...I sound selfish. You too lost your own father Balin. Yet you do not mourn."

"Aloud." Balin corrected. "Now wipe your face. The council comes." Both turned to see a group of stern looking dwarven elders marching down the pathway, a parcel in the front man's hand. "Quick now." Balin ushered, handing Thorin his handkerchief. Thorin dabbed his face, which turned into a frown as the parcel was handed out to him.

"Your father had told me to give this to you should something happen to him. I thought to wait at least a while longer, but seeing as to how it cannot be put off much longer…

"Did he tell you what it was?" Thorin questioned, taking the parcel and quickly peeling of the traditional Durin seal. The council shared looks, one clearing his throat.

"He did not." Was the simple reply, before they turned and left from where they came. Inside was a purple flower; its leaves dry and withered. It smelled of lavender. There was also a few letters inside, one seemingly new, the others yellowed. He took the eldest one dated 2750 in unfamiliar handwriting.

To my dearest Thorin,

I will watch you grow from afar. As you learn to crawl, take your first steps , or form words to soon flow from your lips like the springs of these mountains. May Mahal remind you that we are not born from stone, that you have a mother who loved you as the shore does the moon.

There was no name at the end. The letter-note simple in its message. He could conclude however that it was his mother, whom he had very little dealings with. He would always sneak to look at her when the adults were holding court. She was very beautiful, and many people said that her children took after her and not their father Thrain.

"A letter. From my mother." Thorin answers to Balin's questioning gaze.

"Nanna." Balin whispered. Thorin wondered why his mother would write to him, instead of talking to he and his siblings when they were younger. They were always around, and would've enjoyed her company as opposed to a wet nurse. Were they too wild when they were younger, and scared the dwarrowdam off? How Dis and Frerin would run naked in the halls to taunt their caretaker while he laughed and cheered him on? Frerin, his lost brother. Their last words were yelled, a heated argument over something trivial., and Frerin had stalked away to the fields. That was the last time they spoke. Throat tightening again with grief, Thorin swallowed thickly at an act to compose himself.

"Please excuse me, I wish to finish these alone." He muttered quickly, all but running to his chambers and slamming the door behind him. The fireplace had already been ignited, flames eating the dry wood, demanding more as they crackled and spit out embers like a fastidious child. Three months since the battle of Azanulbizar, waging forces between the orcs and dwarves. A costly victory, which still led them nowhere. The King estranged, families in grievance over lost ones. Even Dis, his strong baby sister was in disarray. All the letters were nothing more than logs of wealth within the lost mountain, and his Grandfather's accounts of lost battles. As interesting as they were, they did little to ease the agitation peeping over his shoulder. Luckily, he found a pitcher of ale by his bedside, filling a cup and gulping it down. He filed it once more, before drinking that one as well. It wasn't enough to give him that fuzzy feeling he liked… Thorin walked over to the window and reflected on his cold surroundings. He hated Ered Luin with a passion. It was dark and dank smelling, a bitter reminder of how he and his people were forced from their home by the dragon Smaug. . It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel depressed. Sighing, Thorin took a seat on his bed, shrugging off thick layers of clothing, until he was left in a simple tunic and pants. He could roam the halls just like this, should he be summoned. There was one letter that caught his eye the most. It was ripped at the edges, and appeared to have been burned. It's seal was a series of intercrossed triangles. There was no address, but reading it, it started off like a treaty.

I, Odin, son of Borr, son of Búri, write to you in hopes of an alliance between the house of Durin, and my own- Odinson. Your people have been assaulted long enough without aid, and it is unsettling to see such a strong force be brought down by the means of orcs.

I understand that you received no help from the elves, but I question why you deemed it wise to seek no further. And with my question answered, add that had you sought out farther than the Mountains, you would've found my troops readily at your command. With this mentioned alliance Asgard would forever be your brother in arms, fighting long side you at any given moment. How will this alliance be executed- I will be rather blunt with this thought, in hopes you will cease to mock me. Marriage. Yes, a marriage between a child of mine- Odin Borson, and yours- Thrain, King under the mountain.

It is known to me that only one daughter was born to you, and that she was given to the well known victorious General Vili, the moment she reached courting age, and that you haven't any other dwarrows in the line of Durin. Perhaps this proposition would be befitting for the cause. Your eldest son, and heir, Thorin, to be wedded to my son and heir Thor. Understand that because it is I that proposed this treaty, Thorin will take the name of Odinson as he is invited into the house of my son, and come to live with his husband in Asgard. I would suggest the Spring of 2800, when both are of common age.

-The Allfather

Thorin read the letter twice over, laughing at the end, and lying back on his bed, the laughing turned into angry breaths as realization set in. Aesir. Marry. Thorin. Odin. He let out an inhuman yell, throwing the letter into the fire. Blood boiling, Thorin grabbed at his hair, pacing the room back and forth.

"Thorin! Are ye okay in there lad?" A voice shouts from behind the thick oak doors of his bedroom. "Heard ya scream."

"I'm fine Dwalin." Thorin yelled back. "Mind somewhere else."

"Mindin' you at the moment. Gonna let me in or not?"

"NO." Thorin groaned, turning back to the letter that had yet to shrivel into ash.

"Well why not?" Dwalin questioned impatiently. "Got another lad in there with ya?" The door was wrenched open, and Dwalin pulled in.

"WHAT. DO. YOU. WANT?" Thorin growled, teeth clenching together in anger.

"I heard you scream-

"Yell." Thorin corrected, tucking a strand of wavy black hair behind his ear, before crossing them in annoyance.

"S'pose it's bout yer father?" Dwalin inferred. "With him being gone and all… Abandoning us."

"He did not abandon us!" Thorin raged, getting into Dwalin's face, who didn't budge. "He… he.." Thorin's anger dissipated, turning into weariness, as he plopped himself onto the large poster bed, Dwalin taking a seat beside him.

"That damned parcel the council gave me… had a bunch of old notes in it."

"Yeah. Balin told me bout that. Said ye might be angry. But why?"

"Some of the letters were from my mother."

"O dear-"

"Those didn't upset me. It was the one from Asgard." Thorin huffed, hands kneading away a potential headache.

"Asgard?" Dwalin repeated. "Why would they write to you?"

"Not to me Dwalin. A treaty of peace… a marriage." Dwalin looked uncomfortable, standing and walking to the door.

"Oh sorta forgot bout that one." He grumbled.

"Forgot about that one? So you've heard of it before?" Thorin questioned.

"Not exactly. Heard the elders talk of it. Thought it was just some rumors people liked to spread. I never… no one ever upped and talked about it directly."

"No one ever told me about it.." Thorin mopped. "Everyone knew except me. And it is to be reinforced this spring."

"Gives enough' time to prepare eh?" Dwalin barely managed to duck the tankard of ale thrown at him.

"Get out."

"Look I'm sorry Thorin. Shouldn't have said that. But what can we do now? Call it off? The council's probably talking of it now, arranging things so you can be ushered off."

"I won't be ushered off. I refuse to marry someone I don't know. Nevertheless a man."

"You wouldn't know the difference was it not called out." Dwalin quipped. "Besides, isn't up to you. Have you read the letter yer father sent? There's got te be one accepting or refusing. Certainly yer old man wouldn't agree now would he?"

"Thrain and I didn't spend much time together. My grandfather raised me, I wouldn't know." Dwalin felt sorry for his friend, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"S' gonna be fine. If not, then we'll make do. I give ya my word Thorin."

"Ay." Thorin replied noncommittally.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: Not all dwarves**

"I shall be married come spring." Hlóriði said, laying his head on the cool wood of the pub table. Vidar placed a hand on his back comfortingly, looking to Freyr for help, who shrugged.

"Just think about it," Tyr quipped. "All that money from the bride's dowry. So much you could buy. So much you could do. And hey, you could give some to your beloved Sif." Hlóriði sniffled, grunting as he sat up.

"There is no beloved Sif. She never forgave me for Loki's dark deeds." Hlóriði replied, sniffling and wiping froth from his beard. Vidar grunted and pulled out a chair to sit beside the distressed god of Thunder.

"Well, if there is truly nothing to be done of the matter… then you are stuck. Destined to marry a short, and hairy man from Erebor. Who probably has a knob for a nose, and a large- "Tyr was cut off from his rant by Vidar staring him down with a glare that could kill.

"Nay. I refuse to see him, if he is as ghastly as you say, I don't even think I'll be able to consummate the marriage…" Hlóriði sighed, running a hand through his tangled, golden mane.

"Don't worry. His looks will be the least on your mind." Hlóriði piped up to the sound of Loki's voice.

"What do you mean?" Hlóriði questioned? Tyr, Vidar and Freyr took the intrusion as their leave, and left the two to converse.

"Well, you do know what his grandfather died of, am I correct?" Hlóriði shook his head. "Old age I presume."

"No," Loki licked his dry lips and spoke, "In Erebor, lies a mass collection of gold and jewels. So much that you can swim in it and never come across the same jewel. While mining, as dwarves usually do, they came across a majestic jewel, so precious, so enchanting that it possessed the mind of King Thror, he soon became addicted to his wealth, they called it, " _Dragon Sickness._ But you'd know it as the curse of Andvari's hoard." Loki stared at Hlóriði, eyes holding something unfamiliar to the God.

"You lie?" It seemed more of a question.

"I do not. It has already overcome Thrain, and I suppose it would have Frerin, had he lived long enough... and of course, it will consume Hlóriðiin, your bride." Hlóriði stood abruptly. "You feed me lies, still your tongue Loki! Nothing but a liesmith, A liar!." He stormed off, rage bubbling off of him like that of a witches cauldron. Loki situated himself at the table. He didn't lie… not this time. He frowned in confusion. Why didn't Hlóriði trust him? Was he not good enough? If it weren't for him, Hlóriði would already be dead! If it were not for him, Hlóriði would have been stuck with Sif, a maiden not suitable for his brother.

* * *

Hlóriði awoke to a heavy feeling in his gut. Something he hasn't felt in years…. _fear._ Why was he afraid, and what of? It couldn't possibly be Hlóriðiin that arose such a damned feeling. Hlóriði got up, legs weighed down and stiff. Maybe a bath would do him fine. Waltzing from his chambers, he made way to the washing halls. It was empty- except for the small black cat stretching on the pools edge.

"Good morning Loki." Hlóriði greeted the cat, stripping down and slipping into the steaming water with a sigh. Loki, then morphed into his human form, long pale limbs and a rosy face from the steam gathering in the enclosed space. He smiled.

"Well.. You are up at an untimely hour. What bothers your mind dear nephew?" Loki questioned, slipping in next to Hlóriði. "I would like to know what keeps my brother-son from his slumber.." Loki asserted, placing a hand on Hlóriði's muscular shoulder, who tensed.

"... What you said. About Thorin. I fear it may be true after all. Father seems to be hiding, and mother says nothing but soft words of consolation. I am no child Loki. I am the future King of Asgard and I demand to know what my bride is burdened of." His voice was grave and something rumbled in his chest. Loki offered his infamous grin.

"I've read many scrolls on the illness, first thought to only affect the dragons of middle earth…" Loki smoothed gentle hands through his hair, picking through tangled strands carefully. "Though that was a fairly latent idea, for the illness attacked the mind as a whole."

"But what does it do?" Hlóriði interrupted. "Should I worry I might catch it?"

"We giants have no record of bearing the sickness. It only attacks those who are bred from gold-the mountains. The dwarves, the men, and the dragons. There are many books of it in the west wing. It would not kill you to glance them." Hlóriði sighed, cupping water in his broad palms to wet his face.

"Ride out with me to see him. You can distract my father." Loki hummed, long fingers tapping against his chin.

"Give me time to think about it.."

"We don't have time. It is only a matter of months before I am to be brought to him." Loki clicked his tongue, moving to duck himself under the water.

"You and I both know I do not aid.. without some retribution of course."

"Please Loki. I will forever be in your debt."

"As much as it kills me to refuse you, I have to decline your _majesty_. You see, I have things of my own in need of tending. Ta ta." And just like that, Loki was out of the water and disappearing behind the great oak doors.

"Damnit." He cursed. There was no more to offer the trickster, so his hopes were dampered. He just needed to see the dwarf once before they wed. If he still looked the same as he did all those years ago however….

 **FLASHBACK**

"Vidar! Hlóriði! Tyr!" Frigga called, watching as three young boys came racing up the broad stone stairs leading to the castle.

"Ha! I win thrice more!" The thinnest boy boasts, he is the tallest, having red hair and sinewy limbs built for speed.

"By only a grain of sand." Came the second tallest boys reply. He was more firmly packed, and stocky, hair just as red, but sporting more of a blonde tinge. "Vidar and I could've beaten you had you not gotten a head start."

"Lies." The first boy says laughing. "I Tyr Odinson am the fastest boy in all of Asgard. Admit your defeat." Hlóriði clonked Tyr in the back of the head. "Ouch!"

"Boys, no hitting!" Frigga chided, smiling at her sons. "Go wash your faces, and prepare for dinner. We have guests."

"Where from." Hlóriði questioned, tying his hair back. "Elves or men?"

"Neither." Frigga replied. "Dwarves." Three pairs of eyes widened.

"Dwarves?" Tyr repeated. "But why here? Shouldn't they be watching their gold?" Hlóriði snorted,

"Not all dwarves." Hlóriði answered. "Does this have to do with what father told me?" Frigga nodded, ruffling the boy's hair. "So I'll go dress for the occasion… does that mean I have to braid my hair?!"

"Not unless it is what you desire. Now hurry along, Vidar come with me." Vidar nodded, wobbling on his feet, wooden leg keeping him off balanced. She took his small hand, leading him up the the stairs after the boys. "We're going to the nursery with Hodr and Baldr. Doesn't that sound fun!" She cooed, pinching his nose. Vidar frowned pointing to his two brothers who were racing through the halls to get to their rooms.

"I'm afraid not my love. It is time for your nap- yes I know you are five, but all the reason for you to have your rest." Vidar pouted, attempting to pull away from Frigga. "O please Vidar, do not fight me."

"Frigga." The woman turned to see her husband, silvering red hair and beard, his one blue eye piercing into her like a blade. She bowed respectively, kissing her husband on the cheek. "They'll be here any minute. Everything is ready. Where is Hlóriði?"

"I just sent him off to dress. Is there something wrong?" Frigga's brows turned down in concern as she asked this.

"Oh thankfully not. I only wished to see him seated before our guests arrived. He is to sit at the head after all." Frigga smiled proudly, matching the grin on Odin.

"I believe if this goes through… If they do in fact get along, imagine the realms Odin. I-"

"Hlóriði mustn't know until after the feast. So as to not twist his judgement."

"I understand." Frigga said regaining her neutral mask.

No sooner, Hlóriði came down the stairs, dressed in his royal blue robes, matching the ones of his brothers and sisters' in color, but far more intricate. His red hair was loose with two braids clipped behind his head to keep them from his face. Frigga kissed his cheeks, telling him he was as handsome as his father.

"Mum, nooo I am not a baby. Kiss Tyr." He groaned, squeezing from her grasp.

"They're here, they're coming!" One of the servants announce. Hlóriði self-consciously straightened in his chair, he saw his sister Valkyrie do the same, adjusting her braids and smoothing the front of her dress. Hermodr and Vali stopped kicking each other under the table, Bragi and Sigi shoving rolls into their tunics before the dinner could start. Trumpets blaring, Hlóriði watched anxiously as the large Oak door of the dining hall were opened and an assemblage of dwarves spilled in.

"Welcome, Thrain, son of Thror son of Dain… to Asgard." Odin greeted, standing up from his chair. The dwarf that appeared to be Thrain, bowed in respect to the King of Asgard.

"It is an honor to be before you Allfather." And they took their seats. Thorin didn't notice there were children amongst the group of Royals, until one sat itself in front of him. He had really dark and thick black hair, reaching his shoulders, and the start of stubble on his face. He wasn't broad or ugly like his kin, soft features that had a lost or almost melancholy appearance for someone his age. Well he looked to be Hlóriði's age, thirteen, but he couldn't tell with dwarves. The dwarfling didn't spare him a glance, keeping his eyes reverted to his plate as he ate. The other two children were much younger than this one, laughing and very talkative with his siblings. The girl called herself Dis, she wasn't as loud as her blonde brother Frerin, but just as lively.

"My mummy made me this, I call her Vaina." She showed Valkyrie her little doll, cloth-stuffed and fair with a dark beard and hair. Valkyrie smiled at her, despite being too old to have any interest in dolls.

"I have many dolls, but I am much too old for them. I could show them to you after dinner?" Dis nodded happily, putting her doll on her lap as they began to eat. Thrain and Odin talked simple business, about the lands in Middle Earth, or Niðavellir as they knew it, and the Dragon that attacked it not too long ago.

"Mora, my wife had the children in the nursery when It collapsed. Hlóriðiin had to get them out… of course by the time I came Mora had already died." Thrain spoke sadly, still harboring the grief of a husband, and some blame for his father. "I told the man it was too much, but he insisted it was for Erebor."

"You're name is Thorin?" Hlóriði found himself asking. The dwarf looked up at him, thick brows furrowing.

"Aye." He answers shortly. "And you are Hlóriði." Hlóriði nodded, smiling at the smaller boy.

"How do you like the food?" Hlóriði adds, wanting to say more. "I don't think it's like the food you have where you live, but we have the best boar and ale." Hlóriði explained, shoving over a frothy mug of amber liquid. Thorin stared at it with disinterest.

"What do I do with it?" He then asked, pulling it towards him. Hlóriði chuckled.

"You're supposed te' drink it. Of course it isn't as strong as my da's but it's just as good." Hlóriði egged the dwarf on. Thorin stared into the cup, smile licking at the edges of his mouth. He took a sip, savoring the taste..

"It's good." Thorin starts. Hlóriði smiles, nodding. "But not more so than ours."

"Is that a challenge to Asgard's ale? I have you know it's been brewed by the gods."

"Eh maybe." Hlóriði was proud of himself, for making the dwarf smile, for it looked so natural on his face. The way his cheeks flushed pink, eyes alight with laughter after a few mugs of ale.

"To long lives and love?" He toasts to the prince.

"If ye can find it." Thorin quipped. He had the strange urge to push the stray lock of hair behind Thorin's ear, the long curl seemingly out of place, but Thorin had already done it.

"You have quite a few beads. They're really nice." Hlóriði compliments. "Where's that one from?"

"This one?" Hlóriði looks to the gold bead hanging on a braid to the left of his face. "My grandfather had it made for me when I was born. It represents my house."

"Durin." Hlóriði infers. "It's well worn."

"And this one, I took from one of the merchants in the Iron Hills. It has brought me good luck so far…"

"I like that one, it brings out your eyes. What about that one?" Hlóriði asks, pointing to twin beads on two braids framing his face. They were crudely shaped, and seemed to have been forged by an amature.

"My friend made me those. Warrior beads he says." And Thorin touches them fondly, Hlóriði seeing the affection masked in the dwarf's eyes. "He is training to become a blacksmith. That's his brother, Balin." Thorin said, pointing to a dwarf with fair hair and eyes. His long beard matched his hair, well groomed with a bit of a sweep.

"Why didn't the blacksmith come?" Hlóriði questions.

"He's away in the Iron Hills. Though he told me to bring him back a trinket."

"We have many of those my prince. I could gift you one of my own, should you promise to watch it as if it were one's own." They stare into eachothers eyes for what seems like an eternity, Thorin's pale blue, and his stormy blue a mix of hidden emotions. Thorin breaks the gaze when he looks down to stuff a mix of chicken and sauce into his mouth.

"So…" Thorin says awkwardly leaning back in his chair and stretching. "How old are you?" Thorin raises a brow, gulping down his ale and wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

"Twenty-five." Hlóriði's heart drops.

"Twenty-five?" He repeats.

"Yep." Thorin bites off a piece of bread chewing, then it stops slowly. "I suppose we'd be the same age though if our ages were ya know, the same. When I went to Dale, I couldn't do the things other twenty-five year olds could. To us, they would be at least eighty. Every dwarf year is five years for men."

"Good. I mean, that's- well now we can talk without it being weird."

"Hmm." Hlóriði continues eating himself, letting out a loud burp when he finished, to which the women looked unimpressed, and the men and children laughed. It hadn't been intentional, not really.

"In the winter, we have sweet ice. The maids gather snow and sweeten it with honey and fruits. Have you had it?" Hlóriði asks, gaining the attention of Thorin's younger siblings.

"O, yes! Don't you remember Thorin when we went to Vili's house for Jul?" Dis exclaims. "It was the yummiest!" Hlóriði laughed at her enthusiasm.

"Yes I guess it is."

"When's the sweets coming out?" Frerin questions, unclipping his hair to let it hang wild. "I want cake."

"Soon. The maids wait until the last fork is set down. The adults are still eating."

"Aww." Dis says pouting, placing her arms across her chest.

"How long did you ride little Dis, Frerin?" Hlóriði asks, putting his fork down into a licked clean plate. Dis looked to her brother.

"I dunno. We departed from Ered Luin two days ago. Rested in between. I slept most of the way." Frerin laughed sheepishly at the end. He, like Thorin, had a furry chin, so he presumed they were around the same age. Thorin had to be older however, because he was Thrain's heir.

"Look little one's here they come." Valkyrie says, tapping Sigi and Bragi's shoulders to look to the plates of dessert the maids and servants were bringing in.

"Sweeties!" Dis squeals, the children bouncing in joy as the dinner plates were exchanged for pastries and cakes. Thorin unconsciously wet his lips, Hlóriði's eyes trailing to them.

"Which are your favorite?" Hlóriði asks Thorin.

"Snúður." Thorin answers without hesitation. "Yours?"

"I like Julekake drizzled in honey and lingonberry jam. You should try it sometime over a cup of Karsk." Thorin asserted

"Do you put sugar in your Karsk?" Frerin asked, licking the powdery sugar from his fingers. "A bit bitter without."

"You shouldn't even be drinking that stuff." Valkyrie said overhearing their conversation. "It is a man's drink."

"I am a man." Frerin retorted. "Want proof!" He wagged his eyebrows like a dog, groaning when his foot was stomped on by Thorin under the table.

"You are a silly lot." Vali says, passing Dis a slab of cake. "Say I wish you could come over for Jule. We rarely have children to play with other than each other."

"Plus, there is only two girls. Freya and I, another would serve us well." Valkyrie adds, "The boys will have no chance with our small army. Surpassing their strengths and vanquishing them like the mists of Nifelheim."

"I would like to see you try." Tyr says, sending a challenging glare their way. Valkyrie smirked.

"Wouldn't you like to see your brothers tails between their legs Dis? Show them humility?" Dis nodded.

"Then we shall not wait, after dinner we will each assemble into forces. Husband against wife, sister against brother.

"The snow is heavy out there children, you might be swayed from your games until morrow." A Vanir woman says, Freya and Freyr's mother.

"Nay, war is not waited out until the sun resurfaces. We will fight like warriors!" Tyr exclaimed, raising a biscuit before tossing it to Bragi.

* * *

Thorin let Dwalin out after a few hours of silent drinking, choosing to bring the night to an end. Face red from the alcohol, he climbed beneath warm sheets.

"Marry Hlóriði Odinson." He says, recounting the letter. Yes, he remembered the name, and the face. Tall proud child with fiery red hair. Haughty in his house, while maintaining enough civility and kindness to be spared of disliking. Of course they were merely children when they met, and he alone had gone through so much change through the course of his life. No longer the lean sinewy limbed dwarfling back then, but a broad skilled warrior, built to rule. Thorin could only imagine what Hlóriði could look like now, fifty years later. Turning over, he placed a hand over his face, willing sleep to come so he could address matters with the council.


End file.
